Childbirth is excruciatingly painful. Sounds like a no-brainer, right? Yeah, that’s what I thought, too. But ABC’s 20/20 is going to broadcast a segment on a new documentary called “Orgasmic Birth,” about women who said that giving birth was one of the most ecstatic (and orgasmic) moments of their lives.

In the segment, to be broadcast on Friday, January 2nd at 10 pm, Tamra Larter says that she spent part of her labor for her second child making out with her husband! “The physical touch and the nurturing was just really comforting to me,” she said, “[The birth] was happening, and I could hardly breathe, and it was like, ‘oh, that feels good.’”

Um. Ew?

Dr. Christiane Northrup, OB-GYN, was interviewed by 20/20 and reported that it is possible to experience orgasmic childbirth, according to “basic science.” She says, “When the baby’s coming down the birth canal, remember, it’s going through the exact same positions as something going in, the penis going into the vagina, to cause an orgasm.”

With all due respect to Dr. Northrup, I’m not buying it. And I think it’s great that Ms. Larter was able to get it on during labor (Sidenote: what’s her kid gonna think when he reads that ten years from now?), but either she has a really, really high threshold for pain, a really big va-jay-jay, or they must have slipped her the epidural without telling her. Also, if your baby gives you an orgasm, isn’t that moderately incestual? Just sayin’.

I have no children at the moment, and I have never given birth, so I guess you could say, “don’t knock it till you try it.” But I believe childbirth may be the one thing that you really don’t have to try to knock.  So, here are just a few reasons why I’m not expecting childbirth to be orgasmic:

1. An eight-pound baby is way bigger than a penis.
It’s true that the kid will be coming out the same way his daddy’s manhood went in, but even if that dad were Ron Jeremy (ew, btw), the biggest penis in the world couldn’t possibly compare to the size and weight of a healthy newborn. Read More »

If you’re single, perhaps you can agree with me on this one. Why is it that immediately after a sexual encounter, the entire world resonates with discussion of pregnancy and sexually transmitted diseases?

Without fail, no matter who my last partner was, how perfect I have been about taking my birth control or how sure I am that I used a backup method too, until I get my next period I am quite convinced that I am probably both pregnant and dying of full-blown AIDS. There are no symptoms that prompt my overreaction, it just comes to me in sharp pangs of anxiety.

Once I’m satisfied that I’m not actually pregnant, however, the panic truly sets in. Sure, you’ve been tested in previous gynecological exams, but have you actually been tested for HIV? And isn’t there a lot of discussion about HIV these days? There was that program in the park, and Philadelphia has been on TV lately, and… Read More »

The alarm screams at 7:54 AM, tearing me out of dream in which I was awkwardly going back to my high school prom.

I am already not a fan of this day.

I do my best to get up and into the shower without falling asleep and slamming my head against the tile wall. Running downstairs, gulping a few spoonfuls of cereal and grabbing my keys, I
make it out the door just in time.

The rain and 45 degree day seem fitting. As does the asshole who cuts in front of me and then stops short to stare at a dead squirrel in the middle of the road. I’ve forgotten how much I hate driving. Going back to New York will be a blessing in one big, public transportation way.

Snagging a gynecologist appointment at home was a stroke of luck, but as I pull into the familiar parking lot, I can’t help but feel the pre-visit jitters. It’s not that I’m afraid of those stirrups and cold metal speculums, I’m just not happy to see them. Ever. Read More »